A quick note: I have never, thank GOD, had someone close to me go through a situation like this. The majority of my knowledge (and I use that term extremely loosely) of the subject matter comes from Lurlene McDaniel novels and Lifetime movies. Dramatic license aside, if you note something that you think is TOTALLY inaccurate, please point it out to me so I can correct going forward, because I do want to try to be respectful of this subject matter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Jesse (sadly), Rachel, or anything else from the Gleek-verse. I also don't own any of the songs quoted in the text.

Handprint On My Heart

Chapter 1: People Will Say

July 2011

Nationals had been a debacle. There was really no other way to put it. First Frankenteen had inexplicably had the nerve to go for a kiss onstage – although then again, Jesse supposed, he shouldn't be surprised by any stunt the Incredible Hulk pulled. Rachel's eyes had widened, and she'd artfully dodged the gesture before he had leaned in too far. It was still enough to raise a titter from the audience, which wasn't completely swallowed by the New Directions' second, more upbeat number.

He'd found her berating Hudson backstage, and she was brought up short when she saw him, believing him to still be in Ohio. He listened – attempting to keep the smirk off his face – as he told Hudson that she'd meant it when she told him before the performance that she wasn't interested, that they were just too different, that she had dreams that were bigger than him, and that his utter disregard for their performance was the final straw. Sensing victory in this whole love triangle they'd been playing out for so long, Jesse finally did allow himself to smirk at Hudson as she flounced away from him, following her through the backstage pathways into a quiet corner of the theater lobby.

He was honestly shocked when she turned to him with real sadness in her eyes and told him she couldn't be with him, either. "We're a perfect match, Jesse," she'd told him, hastily adding before he could interrupt. "Maybe too perfect. Being here, in New York, makes me realize … this is the most important time of my life. And if I'm with you, how am I supposed to grow into the person I need to be? I'm not saying never … but I'm saying I need some time on my own to do what I need to do first."

They'd parted amicably enough. He hadn't seen her since the day they flew back into the Lima airport, when she offered him a hesitant smile as she climbed into her dads' car.

In great, theatric love stories, the principals parted for a time to lick their wounds after a major confrontation, then eventually reunited - preferably in song. He's spent two months teaching voice and dance lessons freelance – now these are some true rejects - and raiding his parents' liquor cabinet. At least that helps calm some of the ringing in his ears. He doesn't think he'll ever get over the case of the shakes Sugar Motta gave him.

The plan has always been to give her her time and her space, then waltz back into her life. An invitation to dinner, a dose of the famous St. James charm, and a few impassioned serenades later, and she'll fall back into his arms. She'll see that she doesn't have to choose between the stage and love - because he's right here, ready to give her all of it.

When her cell phone goes unanswered for a few days, and when no cars are in the Berrys' driveway each time he passes by, he's not too worried. The moment will come. Besides, her car isn't in Hudson's driveway - not that he checks.

He's not worried until the Friday evening when he's sprawled on his childhood bed and, a few swallows into his second glass of scotch, finds himself missing her voice.

She hasn't posted a MySpace video in fifteen days.

Something's not right.

He immediately dials Kurt Hummel.

He's sobered up the next day by the time he walks through the doors at Lima General. However, as he pushes the elevator button for the fifth floor, one glance at the panel has him wishing for a drink. A really stiff one.

"Rachel's sick, Jesse."

Kurt had stubbornly refused to give him any further details, demurring that it wasn't his place, and anyway, he didn't quite feel like bringing Rachel's wrath down on top of him. However, allowing that she was supremely stubborn – and Jesse was quite likely to learn nothing without Kurt's help – he'd acquiesced to provide a location, so Jesse could seek out the information on his own.

Being disarmingly charming usually gets him the information he needs, and with some directions from the receptionist at the front desk, he's quickly on his way to Rachel Berry's room. He feels his heart lurch in his chest when he pushes the button for the fifth floor and notes the panel.

Fifth floor - Hematology. Oncology.

He might have failed out of UCLA because he'd never taken a science class in his life, but even he knows what that word means.

There are strangers in the elevator, forcing him to keep his showface on. This is nothing, right? Surely Rachel is here for something relatively minor. That department clearly shares a physical location with it, and nothing more.

He has to force himself not to run down the hall to room 503. He stops at the open door, wholly unsure of what he's going to find. Rachel is sitting up in bed in a shapeless hospital gown, reading. A quick glance doesn't show much outwardly wrong. She's a little pale, maybe, but looks comfortable for the moment. Now his anger - she couldn't even call and warn him, God - bubbles up a little.

"No piano. Can't quite make the entrance I'm used to with you," he drawls, stepping in.

Her head snaps up and she drops the book. "Jesse?"

"Rachel Barbra Berry." He pulls the door closed behind him. "What on earth possessed you not to tell me about this?"

"How did you find me?" she breathes, looking totally aghast.

"I asked you a question first." Because he has no intention of going anywhere anytime soon, he drags a chair over, sits by the bed.

"Kurt," she grinds out. "I'm going to kill him." She pauses, then asks, "Did he tell you?"

"No."

He doesn't expand, just watching her. She looks around the room as though she's going to find a way out of the line of questioning, even paler than she was before. Finally, she sighs. "Sit down," she tells him.

"I'm already sitting," he snaps.

She blinks. "Oh. I guess you are. It just seemed like the thing to say - on stage or something."

Because he's just as dramatic as she is, he quietly sits and waits for the answer, unwilling to banter off her and let her delay the truth. He vows to keep his showface firmly in place through whatever comes out of her mouth.

"I have cancer, Jesse."

He lied. There's no way he can keep a showface in place through that.

While he's trying to breathe through the kick that seems to have just been delivered to his stomach, he focuses in on her face. He realizes she's watching him anxiously. She isn't used to this. She hasn't told people this.

"Tell me everything," he requests.

"From the beginning?" she asks softly. He nods and she sighs. "Leading up to Regionals last year, I threw myself into rehearsal after ... well, after." He winces. "I started to feel run down. I'd wake up at night in a cold sweat feeling feverish, or get tired easily during rehearsal. I figured I was coming down with a bad flu, but I couldn't risk missing rehearsal time or the competition. So I took a lot of over-the-counter medicine, drank a lot of herbal tea, and pushed through the best I could. After Regionals, my dads finally made me go see a doctor. They put me on antibiotics for the flu symptoms, but I didn't respond, so they did some bloodwork. It showed I had an elevated white cell count, which led them to run a battery of tests - and that's when they diagnosed me. Technically, the name for what I have is Hodgkin's Lymphoma. It's very rare. I always have to be one of a kind," she jokes weakly.

He doesn't think it's particularly funny.

"It's basically a cancer of the immune system. And I had a mass in my abdomen, which I had surgery to remove. They treated me with radiation therapy to try to kill anything left in that area and to stop the disease's growth. The mass didn't re-emerge and my bloodwork looked clean in the fall. So I got to go back to school."

"Did anyone know?"

"Just Kurt - and later, Blaine. But no one else - not even Mr. Schue. I'm Rachel Berry. They all think I'm enough of a freak already - I just couldn't be 'the freak girl with cancer' on top of it. For most of the year, I felt fine, anyway. But leading up to Nationals, I started feeling like something wasn't right again."

"And you didn't say anything then?" he demands.

"It was New York, Jesse," she exclaims, as though that should explain everything. And in a way, it does. "So - my most recent bloodwork shows trouble again. So this time, it's chemotherapy." She visibly winces.

She's thorough in her explanation - she always is. He has only one question left, for now.

"Is this why you sent me away after Nationals?" he asks softly.

She shrugs helplessly, averting her eyes. "I knew what I'd have to go through again," she says. "I didn't want you to see me like this. I thought if I got rid of you for the summer, I'd be feeling well again by fall - just like last time."

He's still reeling from her news and - though he feels ashamed by it - there's part of him that's still so, so angry. But there's something in her expression that tugs at his heart. Under her defiance, there's vulnerability. The fear that if she'd shown him any imperfection, he'd abandon her. There's something else, too - the fact that she'd hoped to cure herself over the summer, with him out of the way, then be well again by fall. She's always meant to contact him again. Just not like this.

Well, Rachel Berry is just going to have to learn to adjust. He reaches out to cover her hand with his.

There's so much he wants to say to her.

"Silly girl," is what he says. "How could you not know that I would want to be with you through this?"

He spends another sleepless night on his bed, thinking about Rachel Berry while drinking himself senseless. He knows his father is leaving on another business trip in the morning - he can hear him rustling back and forth outside, muttering about his son - who failed at college, mind you - sitting around using up his good scotch and singing showtunes instead of making something of himself.

It's for this precise reason that he tries to spend as little time here as possible. He'd planned to lie low for the summer, cobble together what money he could, then make a break back to New York - after winning Rachel back, of course, knowing she'd be joining him in less than a year. He has a trust fund, of course, and his parents certainly aren't lacking for wealth. But considering exactly what his parents think of his chosen career, he finds doing it this way far more satisfying.

He's certainly not heading to New York now, though. His dreams are going to have to be put on hold - because he's not leaving her side. Almost as an afterthought, he realizes he can't allow her to put her own dreams on hold.

The next day, Jesse rides the elevator back up to the fifth floor, the strangers curiously eyeing the box he's bringing. He gets a little impatient when the nurses at the desk upstairs stop him, making him pull everything out to wipe it down with an antibacterial wipe, then scrub his own hands before he goes any further on the floor. Rachel is not in the isolation wing of the oncology center, reserved for the highest-risk patients. But they're still not taking any chances.

One of her dads, Leroy, is in the chair by the bed. She's obviously told her dads about his visit the day before. Leroy doesn't look surprised to see him; he nods politely, but not warmly. "Jesse."

For her part, Rachel is smiling a little shyly. "You came back."

He smiles, a little awkwardly, hating the feeling. He's not used to being in the same room as her and not touching her, but he doesn't want to do anything her dad might consider untoward. "I told you I would."

Leroy glances back and forth between them, then excuses himself, kissing Rachel's cheek. After a pause, Jesse takes a seat in the vacated chair.

He suddenly remembers the box he's holding. He sets it down, pulls out the battery-operated CD player. Then he spills the CDs and sheet music into a pile on the bed. Rachel literally claps her hands in delight.

"What are we listening to?" she asks.

He smiles. "You're going to sing."

"What?"

He rifles through the stack of CDs before pulling one out and holding it up. "Oklahoma. Laurey's one of your dream roles, right? Didn't you say it helps you when you're stressed?"

"Jesse. We're in a hospital." She seems to feel the need to point out the obvious.

He smirks at her. "Lucky for everyone else. Aren't they getting a treat?"

She sighs and flops back against the pillows. "You and your impromptu concerts, St. James."

"It's important for you to keep your voice in use," he insists. "You're not giving up on everything that makes you you just because you got sick. You're still Rachel Berry, female lead of nationals contender - although I use that word loosely - New Directions and a future Broadway star. You're still the girl I fell in love with belting out Don't Rain on My Parade."

While he's been arguing her into submission, he's pulled the CD out of its case and turned the player on. She's eyeing the sheet music with something like lust and he grins triumphantly, knowing he's made the right choice.

She takes a deep breath and is a little hesitant to start, but loosens up as she goes along.

Why do they think up stories that link my name with yours?

Why do the neighbors chatter all day behind their doors?

I know a way to prove what they say is quite untrue:

Here is the gist, a practical list of "don'ts" for you.

Don't throw bouquets at me,

Don't please my folks too much,

Don't laugh at my jokes too much,

People will say we're in love!

Don't sigh and gaze at me,

Your sighs are so like mine,

Your eyes mustn't glow like mine,

People will say we're in love!

Don't start collecting things,

Give me my rose and my glove.

Sweetheart, they're suspecting things -

People will say we're in love!

She winks at him playfully and he laughs, perching himself on the side of the bed as she allows him to sing the next part.

Some people claim that you're to blame as much as I,

Why do you take the trouble to bake my favorite pie?

Granting your wish, I carved our initials on that tree!

Just keep a slice of all the advice you give so free.

Don't praise my charm too much,

Don't look so vain with me,

Don't stand in the rain with me,

People will say we're in love!

Don't take my arm too much,

Don't keep your hand in mine -

Your hand feels so grand in mine,

People will say we're in love!

He takes her hand as they finish it out together, her giving a little flourish of protest with her other hand.

Don't dance all night with me

Till the stars fade from above.

They'll see it's alright with me -

People will say we're in love.

He can hear loud grumbling from across the hall at their impromptu duet, so he gets up and shuts the door before he returns to find the sheet music for the next song, knowing that this certainly won't be the last number of the day. Closing the door is probably also a good idea because he certainly won't be able to keep from kissing her if she sings any more.

It's a good thing Rachel doesn't have a roommate.

It turns out that the staff of the oncology wing at Lima General is none too pleased when you attempt to practice Laurey and Curley's dream ballet with one of their patients.